Everything That Can Go Wrong
by PenPatronus
Summary: A new gang in Los Angeles tries to make a name for itself by capturing and torturing Callen and Sam. MAJOR CALLEN WHUMP. Hurt/comfort, angst, drama.
1. Something Shiny

**Summary: **A new gang in Los Angeles tries to make a name for itself by capturing and torturing Callen and Sam. MAJOR CALLEN WHUMP. Hurt/comfort, angst, drama.

**Everything That Can Go Wrong**

PenPatronus

Chapter 1 of 5

**Something Shiny**

A single drop of cold water bounced off of Sam Hanna's swollen eyelid. Sam flinched. He opened his eye part way and regretted it immediately when a second drop dove from a rusty pipe and hit his pupil. Groaning, Sam tried to turn over and fall back to sleep. His SEAL-self warned him to stay awake. Something was wrong, but fighting his way back to consciousness was like swimming through quicksand. However, when rolling over enflamed the burns on the back of his neck, Sam's own yelp of pain became his alarm clock.

"Shit - _shit_!" Sam growled through clenched teeth. He dug his heels into the dirty cement floor and backed himself against the wall until he was sitting up. Someone had handcuffed his left wrist to a leaky, waist-level iron pipe. Sam blinked away water, sweat and stars and studied his surroundings. The cell was relatively large - about the size of the NCIS bullpen. Chilly, windowless, lit only by one dim light bulb swaying from the ceiling, the prison smelled of rust and mildew. And, except for Sam, it was empty.

"Careful, dumbass!" a voice bellowed. Sam looked to his right and saw shadows approaching the cell. "If you keep dropping him on his head then Papa will lock us up, too!"

"What's it matter?" a higher-pitched voice grunted. "So many bumps on his skull they won't know if it's from us or their boots! Jake, come on, not so fast!"

Sam stood as three figures came into view. Two teenage African American boys carried a limp body between them. As they passed under a flickering bulb, Sam recognized the pale face of his partner and best friend, G Callen. Sam started yanking on the handcuffs like a dog on a leash. "Who the hell are you?" he bellowed. "What did you do to my partner?"

Startled, the older, taller boy, dropped Callen's feet. "Thought you said they drugged this cop, Darren!"

"They did!" Younger, shorter Darren struggled to keep his grip under G's armpits. "Look at him, man! He's huge - like a bull!"

"Hey!" Sam barked. "I'm talking to you! We're federal agents – do you have any idea what kind of trouble you're asking for? Who's in charge around here?"

Jake fumbled in his pockets and withdrew a key. "You ain't so tough," he said to Sam. The slight tremble in the boy's hand as he unlocked the cell door betrayed his anxiety. To Darren he said, "He's half the size Dad was. Dad was nine, ten feet tall!"

Darren's eyes widened. "You lie," he declared. A hint of hope tinted his voice.

"Shit, what do you know? You were six!"

The iron cell door squeaked open. Sam opened his mouth to speak again but couldn't summon a coherent question. A closer look at Callen's injuries took his breath away. Far, far away.

"My arms hurt!" Darren whined.

"Pain in the ass - here, just roll him. See? Like this." Jake helped Darren lower G to the damp cement floor. He slid two fingers through G's belt loops, lifted, then kicked. Half a dozen rolls later, Jake and Darren finally got G to the center of the floor where they left him lying spread-eagled and face down. The two boys kept bickering as they locked the cell and ambled back down the corridor, but Sam had all but blocked them out.

Sam didn't intend to whisper but couldn't seem to help it. "G?" Straining against the handcuffs, Sam stretched his hand out as far as he could but still fell two feet short of touching Callen's shoulder. "Come on, G, come on, man," he said. "Wake up. _Wake up_!" Sam started counting the wounds he could see. Blood stained the left half of the back of G's pale blue, button-down shirt. He was burned, and his jeans were ripped in half a dozen places, revealing half a dozen shallow knife wounds. To his horror, Sam recognized the burns on G's wrists as jumper cable clamps.

Five minutes of statements like "G, you better wake up before I beat your ass" later, Callen rotated his head snail-slow and blinked drowsily at Sam. "You can't even reach my ass," G slurred. He licked his lips, winced, and then closed his eyes.

"G!" Sam wasn't whispering anymore. "Stay awake. Talk to me."

G's eyes slid open half-way. "Sam, I had the strangest dream that you wore a top hat on a stakeout," he joked. "And you had the neck of a giraffe."

"G, where are we?" Sam, all business, demanded.

G's unfocused eyes scanned the rusty pipes going up the beige wall behind Sam's head. "I can tell you where we're not," he offered. "This place definitely isn't a Chuck E' Cheese. It's not Dodger Stadium or the BMV. There. I've narrowed it... narrowed it down..." G grimaced and sighed. His eyelids started to sink.

Sam yanked so hard on the handcuffs that the metal breached his skin and blood slid down his arm. "I have to stop all that red stuff, G. You gotta crawl to me so I can patch you up."

G frowned. "But it's so comfortable here." He groaned as he shifted his weight and attempted to raise his head. "Dammit, I think I left my gym bag in the boatshed…"

Sam reached out his hand, palm up. "Just come towards me, G, about a foot. Stretch your arm out and I'll pull you the rest of the way."

"I'll move for a sandwich. Preferably a ham sandwich."

"How about a knuckle sandwich?"

"As long as there's mustard." Callen folded his arms under his chest and did a push up. As he shimmied forward he left a puddle of ever-darkening blood in his wake. G moved about six inches when his trembling knees suddenly slid on his own blood and he ended up flat on the floor once again. "When… you've been… tortured," G mumbled, "shouldn't you just pass out… at some point? Shouldn't the body just… just shut down from the pain?"

Sam turned his back on G. He studied the wall, the pipe, the water. Rust caught his attention. The leaky pipe soaked the handcuffs.

"I need a distraction. Know what would be fun right now?" G asked. "Let's play a game of I Spy."

Sam wrapped his right hand around his left wrist and yanked. Rust flaked off of the chain.

"All right, all right, I'll go first," G mumbled.

Sam braced one boot against the wall, then the other. Sweat dribbled down his nose.

"I spy with my little eye something... something...shiny..." Suddenly the right side of Callen's bottom lip was stained with fresh blood. He coughed again and more blood slipped past his teeth. That strained something – or maybe everything – and Callen cried out in pain. For the first time since getting dumped into the cell his voice, expression and body language were stripped of all levity and sarcasm. He trembled. His fear and agony revealed, G dropped all attempts at looking "macho," reached out for his partner and whispered his name.

"I'm coming, G. I'm coming."

"S-_Sam_…"

"Almost - got it!" The rusty chain linking the handcuffs split apart and Sam landed on his backside. He quickly rolled to his knees and crawled over. With a rush of deja vu that caused a funny taste in his mouth and a stinging sensation behind his eyes, Sam gently lifted G into his arms and cradled him like an infant. Callen's back arched. A quick intake of breath communicated to Sam that he was hurting more than helping, so he adjusted his grip so that the back of G's neck was braced against the soft inside part of his thigh.

"You good?" G whispered. His breaths sounded more like gasping than breathing.

Sam sniffed. "Once we get you to a hospital I'll be fine and dandy." Sam stripped off the thin, long-sleeved t-shirt he wore over a black tank. He started to wrap it around G's right forearm. "G, what happened? The last thing I remember was hearing an explosion."

"Someone tossed a grenade into the boatshed," G said. "You were knocked out by debris. I mean, you wet your pants and fainted."

"I did not." Sam noticed that G's left leg was bleeding heavier. He switched to the leg but the blood on G's stomach drew his attention. Frustration was released in the form of several curse words as the agent ripped his shirt into several bandages and started plugging up each hole one by one, starting with a shallow stab wound under the sternum.

"Watch your language. There are kids here," G said, cocking his chin at the cell door.

"How many bad guys?" G didn't respond. Sam turned his attention away from his first aid and saw his partner's eyes close. "Come on, G. I need you to talk to me." He jumped when G suddenly grabbed his hand. The weight of it pinned Sam's palm against his best friend's heart.

G's eyelids cracked. "Sam," he gulped, looking straight into his best friend's eyes, "Sam, _answer me_."

Sam cleared his throat but failed to loosen it. "Answer what?" he whispered.

"I said... I spied... something shiny," G wheezed. "What's your guess?"

Sam snorted. He wore that fond smile he always tried but failed to hide around G's antics. Tears hovered in his eyes. "G, I'm not going to play some dumbass game while you bleed to death," he declared. Quietly, he added, "Handcuffs. The handcuffs are shiny."

Callen grinned. "Nope," he said, and made a buzzing sound deep in his dry throat, "try again."

Sam didn't have a chance to. His elbow accidentally landed on a cracked rib. G screamed. Before Sam could say "sorry," Callen passed out in his arms.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Something Round

**Everything That Can Go Wrong**

PenPatronus

Chapter 2 of 5

**Something Round**

Hetty locked herself in the bathroom and set an alarm on her watch. For precisely five minutes she permitted herself to feel her emotions. She wept. She sobbed so hard that a bystander might have misinterpreted the convulsions for a seizure. Some tears were for Sam, but most were for Callen. She was so fond of that man that if she could, she would put him in a castle guarded by a moat of fire ants, cover him in bubble wrap, surround him with bunnies and protect him with a platoon of bigger fire ants.

He was a good man. He was a special man. More than that, he was precious. So very precious to so very many.

Hetty wanted Callen _safe_. She wanted to see him sleeping peacefully, and to place a mother's kiss on his forehead.

She also wanted to hang his attackers with nooses made from their own spines.

The alarm beeped. Hetty wiped her eyes and took a few deep breaths. Clothing adjusted, posture corrected, makeup reapplied, hair and features defaulted to normal, she strode back into Ops just as Deeks and Kensi returned from the hospital. They both started talking at once so loudly and so quickly that Hetty reached up and placed her palm against Deeks' lips. "Report, Agent Blye," she requested.

Kensi's left temple was bruised and dried blood as thick as lipstick covered her mouth. She started to speak but Deeks declared, "Callen's tummy saved us!" Hetty, Nell, Eric and Kensi stared at him. Deeks blinked and rubbed the bandage on the back of his head. "Sorry," he said, "blame that on head trauma. What I mean, uh, is that Kensi and I would've been standing right where that grenade landed if Callen hadn't convinced us to go pick up some pizza."

"We were already outside," Kensi explained. "Missed the full brunt of the explosion. When I turned around I saw Sam and Callen falling through the hole in the boatshed floor."

"No, no," Deeks said, wagging his finger. "They rolled. Sam's clothes were on fire. Callen grabbed him and rolled them both into the water."

"By the time Deeks and I got to our feet they were nabbed by a pair of males with underwater scooters and extra oxygen tanks." Kensi clapped her hands together once. "At least we know they wanted them alive."

Eric shook his head. "That's why the cameras didn't see any sign of them. Everything happened underwater."

Hetty turned to Nell. "We need satellite images for the entire coastline. Those scooters can go pretty far on a full charge. And depending on how much oxygen they had, they could've gone to another pier, a boat or an offshore oil rig for all we know." Hetty pointed a forefinger. "Find them. Quickly." She turned to Deeks and Kensi. "You two need some more rest. Go, _now_."

Deeks suddenly went wide-eyed. "I bet you were a freaking _fireball_ in your twenties, Henrietta." He rolled his tongue across the "r" with a flourish, and winked.

Hetty smiled patiently and patted his arm. "Lots of rest," she said, "but no more drugs…"

* * *

><p>It was the older of the two teenage boys, Jake, who returned to the cell hours later with food and water. When he saw the scowling Sam, Jake took a Sig Saucer out of his sweatpants pocket and pointed it with one shaking hand. Sam doubted that the kid had ever held a gun in his life, let alone shot one, but he put his body between the weapon and Callen's unconscious form anyway. "S-stay back," Jake ordered.<p>

Sam held his hands up in surrender. "Jake, right?"

Jake unlocked the cell door. "I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Fine." Sam crossed his arms against his chest. "But telling me you can't talk is talking, so, I guess you broke that rule." Jake opened his mouth to argue, froze, and shut it again. He rolled a pair of water bottles into the cell like a bowler. "That other kid. Darren. He's your brother."

Jake tossed in a half-eaten bag of chips. "Yeah. Kid brother. Pain in the ass little brother."

"This pain in the ass is my little brother," Sam said with a nod at his partner. "His name's G. I'm Sam."

Jake snorted. "You two don't look like brothers."

"We're brothers in every way that matters," Sam said. "Know what I mean?"

"I guess." Jake handed over the entrée: a plastic bowl of applesauce.

"You guess what?"

"I guess you mean you'd kill for him?"

"It means I'd die for him. Twice."

"So, what?" Jake re-locked the door but kept the gun up.

Sam studied the kid for a long minute. "G here was an orphan, too." Jake's jaw didn't drop but his lips did part. "He had it rough. Went from foster home to foster home, orphanage to orphanage. Sometimes it was safer on the streets." The gun dropped a few inches. Sam risked stepping closer to the door. "At least on the streets nobody wanted answers he couldn't give. No social workers writing on forms, no cops asking why he wasn't in school… He was alone."

Jake snorted. "You starve on the streets."

Another step. "Is that why you and Darren are here with these people? Because they feed you?"

"Because they don't ask questions!" The gun ascended as Jake's brow descended. "And I ain't alone! We ain't! The gang's our family."

Sam shifted from "father" back to "agent." "What gang, Jake? What's the name of the gang?"

"Ain't telling you shit!" Jake spit on the floor. He was down the hall and around the corner before Sam could call him back.

"Nice try," said a groggy voice. Sam pivoted to see G's blue eyes blinking. "Is that applesauce?"

Sam sighed. He scooped up the bowl and helped G into a sitting position. Callen managed to stay upright under his own strength for a minute before he toppled and had to be propped up against Sam's shoulder. "Geeze, G, you smell like seaweed."

"Like you don't need deodorant," Callen mumbled. "And a breath mint."

"How you feeling?" Sam asked. He kept his expression neutral except for his flaring nostrils.

Callen stared at an unnamed spot on the floor. "Weren't we in the middle of a game?"

"G, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, just tell me what they did to you or if I can do anything to make you more comfortable or—"

"I'll give you another guess," Callen said. "I spy with my little eye something… round."

"G—"

"_Sam_." Callen shuddered. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. When he spoke again it was in a whisper followed by a sniffle. "Sam, I'm not sure if I-I…" Goose bumps bloomed across Sam's skin. Something in the air shifted – like a storm front had just passed over. "I saw two Caucasian men in their mid to late 50's and about a dozen teenage boys – all ages, all races, all skinny street kids. Gang tats and graffiti everywhere but nothing I recognized. They tied me to a chair in front of a video camera and used knives and hammers."

Sam felt heat rise from his boots to the top of his skull. "What do they want?" he whispered.

"Don't know. They didn't ask any questions. They didn't make any demands to me or to the camera. They didn't even bother to make sure that the camera had a good angle on my face."

Sam frowned. "Doesn't make sense. The point of torture is to get information. The point of filming torture is to prove to someone higher up that there's a hostage. It's not like it's a snuff film. We weren't random targets."

"So what do they want?" Callen wondered.

Sam carefully rolled the thin tin foil off of the bowl of applesauce. With no spoon or straw, with Callen barely able to stay awake let alone feed himself, Sam had to rest the carton on G's lower lip and gently tip it into his mouth. He did the same with the water, giving G both bottles. It was Callen who eventually broke the contemplative silence. "Not the bowl," he whispered, "or the bottle caps."

"Huh?"

"They're not what's round. They're not what I spied."

Sam gently adjusted Callen's body so that his partner relaxed back against his chest like he was a beach chair. "Something round, something round," he muttered, playing along. "G, we're in a prison. There's really not much to see."

"What a poor excuse for a federal agent you are," G muttered. "I bet Deeks would've solved the case by now. We should send you back to training – haze you in again, go through Interrogation 101, bomb squad… stuff…"

"Hazing…" Sam whispered. The proverbial light bulb went off in his head. "G, what if this is a gang initiation? Gangs make kids beat up, sometimes murder another gang member as their rite of passage into the group. But if a gang's real enemies are feds, then feds are who they'd attack. It would be too dangerous for the leaders to be near the hostage so they have the initiates send a recording. G, that's it! Shit if I know if that helps us but that's it!" Sam gently shook Callen's body. "G?"

"Sorry Sam… Kinda tired…" Callen went limp and slumped against his partner. His ragged breaths turned shallow in a restless sleep.

"Guess we'll chat later," Sam said to deaf ears. Suddenly fear went through him like a bolt of lightning. For a moment he couldn't breathe or think. For a moment he was paralyzed.

And then Sam found Callen's pulse. It was like a massage against his fingertips. Calming.

**To Be Continued**


	3. Something Smooth

**Everything That Can Go Wrong**

PenPatronus

Chapter 3 of 5

**Something Smooth**

"A submarine?" Detective Deeks repeated for the third time. "Sam and Callen were towed to a Russian submarine?"

"Yes," said Nell.

"No," said Eric.

Hetty cleared her throat and crossed her arms against her chest.

"Yes, they were taken to a sub," Nell continued. With a flick of her fingers a map of Venice Beach appeared on the ops screen. She zoomed out and pointed at a red line that led from the NCIS boatshed to a spot of featureless blue water. "The sub headed for open water but left the underwater scooters behind. Those scooters returned to the mainland."

Eric zoomed the map out again. A blinking light indicted the sub's path. "They thought we'd just track the submarine. We already sent a Navy ship to intercept but a thousand bitcoins says that our guys aren't on it. I bet they stayed in the scooters."

"Scooters that were later abandoned here." Nell clicked a button and a green light blinked on the beach.

Kensi dragged her palms down her cheeks. "That's a block away from the boatshed. They doubled back."

"Straight back," Deeks muttered with a shake of his shaggy hair.

"Half of the LAPD have already started combing the area," Hetty announced. She pointed at Kensi and Deeks and said, "I want you two to join them and take the lead."

"I thought you said we should get some rest."

"Yes, but then I recalled who I was talking to. I figured I should order you to go instead of just waiting around for you to sneak out on your own."

"Already gone," Kensi called as she walked through the door. With a nod at his colleagues, Deeks followed.

* * *

><p>"Something smooth? You spy something smooth?" Sam asked. "I haven't guessed right so far, what makes you think I'll get this one?" Sam continued his sweep of the room, examining every discoloration in the iron bars, every crack in the wall, every dent in the floor, every draft of air.<p>

From his fetal position on the floor, G Callen smiled wryly up at his partner. "Let's make it more interesting, then. A hundred bucks if you're right."

"And what will you give me if I find us a way out of here?"

"Fine – make it two hundred."

"Agreed," said Sam from the farthest corner of the room, "but only if my friend over there can help me figure it out."

"Will you split the money with him?" Callen asked without missing a beat. Both men stared at the narrow hallway just out of sight beyond their prison cell.

"Come on, Darren," Sam called. "I need your help, man. I'm only good at Go Fish."

Jake's 13-year-old brother peeked around the corner. "How did you know I was here?" he asked, amazed.

"We heard you hold your breath."

Confusion wrinkled Darren's eyebrows. "I was holding my breath. You couldn't hear me breathing if I was holding my breath."

"What we heard was the extra long inhale right before you held your breath," Callen explained. "It's a super power. Not a spider or radiation-induced super power but still, pretty super." Callen tried to sit up but only made it when Sam jogged over to help.

Darren wrung his hands together. He had bushy eyebrows, a sinewy neck, a tattered red t-shirt and jeans with mismatched boots. "But how – how did you know it was me and not one of the other boys?"

"I'm good at reading body language," said Sam. "When I saw you before I could tell you were curious. Curious people act… curious. They sneak around, they spy, they eavesdrop."

"Did it hurt?" Darren asked. His curious eyes fixed on Callen. He poked his own ribs and winced. "I saw you get hammered with a hammer. They made us watch the tape over and over."

Callen blinked several times to fight off the fever and inability to focus. "Yeah," he said quietly, "it hurt a lot. Those men out there like to hurt people but you don't, do you, Darren?"

The boy shifted his weight and stared at the floor. "No…"

Sam stood up straighter. "Don't be ashamed, kid. It's a good thing to not want to hurt someone. It's important. Really important." Sam waited for a reaction and when he got none, continued. "Darren, do you know why those people hurt my partner?"

"'Cuz Papa told us to. Gang members gotta obey the boss."

Sam and G exchanged glances. "Maybe I'm right," Sam whispered. "Maybe this is some sort of initiation."

"No, we're missing something," said G. "Why did you have to watch the tape, Darren?"

Darren rubbed his nose. He looked around the cell and stepped backwards. "I shouldn't be here…"

"Hey, we're not going to hurt you. Answering a few questions never caused any harm, right?"

Darren swallowed visibly. "They're teaching us how to do it."

"How to hit people with hammers?"

"Papa says that if we're going to fight for him we have to practice."

"They're training you to torture federal agents?" Sam asked.

Darren shrugged. "They gave Jake and me so many burgers I puked. We got a pillow. We got a bed. There are a bunch of other kids here with no folks. Papa says he'll do everything for us if we just mess some suits up once in awhile. He's even taking me to the mall tomorrow! Said he's going to give me a backpack full of money and I can buy anything I want!"

Sam stood, but only halfway so that he could keep a hand on G's shoulder. "Darren, I'll grill you some burgers myself."

"I've eaten at his house," G said with a halfhearted smile. "He rubs this garlic and cinnamon concoction into the meat. You'll drool." G smacked his lips and touched his stomach. "I'm drooling now."

Darren tugged on his shirt sleeves and shifted his weight back and forth. "Jake says we got family here. We got family now. We even got a name, see?" Darren rolled his sleeve up and showed G and Sam a fresh tattoo on his shoulder.

G's face paled another shade. "Sam, help me up."

"G, I don't think you should move, man."

Callen's eyes flashed. "Sam help me!"

Worried that his friend would move with or without his help, Sam pulled G's arm across his shoulder. They staggered towards Darren and Callen held onto the iron bars. "That's Russian," he said, reading the words. "террорист-смертник." Callen's wide eyes reflected every light in the room. "Darren, please, I need you to listen to me. Papa is not your friend! He's not taking you to the mall to go shopping, he's going to use you to hurt people!"

"No he ain't!"

"If you help us we can help you! We won't make you do anything dangerous – I promise!"

"G, what is it?"

Callen shook his head back and forth. "Hetty probably has the whole city looking for us. Nobody will expect an attack. No cops will be there."

"What's the tattoo say?"

"It's a cruel joke. Like naming a cow "Dinner."

"G?" Sam gave his partner a brief shake to remind him that he was there.

"Darren's been marked for death," Callen whispered. "That tattoo says "suicide-bomber."

**To Be Continued**


	4. Something Sharp

**Everything That Can Go Wrong**

PenPatronus

Chapter 4 of 5

**Something Sharp**

"That kid's checking you out," Deeks whispered to Kensi.

Kensi lifted her arms to adjust her ponytail. Through the arch made by her elbow she spotted a teenage African American boy peeking out from behind a dumpster. "Actually, I think he's looking at you."

"He's been following us for three blocks." Deeks adjusted his t-shirt to make sure that his gun was hidden. A pair of LAPD detectives, also dressed in civilian clothes, passed them on the sidewalk. "Maybe he wants our lunch money."

"Actually he's been following you for six blocks," Eric said through their earwigs. "And she's right, Deeks. He's staring at you."

"And now he's approaching you," Nell's voice warned.

Kensi and Deeks shared a we-don't-have-time-for-this look. The sun was setting and the last thing they needed was to be interrupted in their search for G and Sam. They pivoted and unsheathed their weapons. The kid stopped mid-stride and held his hands up as if in surrender. "Don't shoot me!" he said.

"What do you want?" Deeks demanded.

"Uh, a f-friend needs me to find someone who…" The boy took a deep breath and faced Deeks. "Do you have a dog named Monty?" he asked.

* * *

><p>When Callen woke up he deduced that the absence of Sam and the presence of rushed voices and foul-smelling chemicals meant one thing: he was in the hospital. Relief felt like raindrops trickling down his spine. He slept right through the rescue. Darren must have found Kensi and Deeks and they probably parachuted in with a whole platoon of—<p>

The first quarter-second sensation of pain knocked the wind out of his lungs. The second drew out a scream so loud that his ears popped.

Callen's eyes flew open wide and he took in the entire scene before his first blink: a dozen people struggled to see over heads and shoulders, climbing on chairs to get a better look as a slim man with an oddly wide head handed a blowtorch to a teenage boy and pointed at Callen's kneecap. "Slowly," he instructed with a Moscow accent. "The anticipation of the pain is critical."

"Hey," Callen mumbled, then said louder, "hey – _hey, don't_!" He struggled but arms held him down.

The teen looked up at him and the Russian smacked him on the back of the head. "Do not make eye contact!" he ordered. "Would you look into a pig's eyes as you slaughter it?"

"I've never s-slaughtered anything," the boy said. He didn't look away from Callen – didn't seem to be able to.

The Russian cursed under his breath. "Give me that," he said, and perhaps he said more but his words were drowned out by Callen's scream. When the fire stopped, forever and a half later, Callen's chin slumped against his chest and he went limp. "This man is about to become unconscious," said the Russian from what seemed like miles away. "What do we do, yes? What do we do now?"

Callen got the odd and sinking feeling that he was back in his high school biology class on dissection day – except he was the frog.

"Jake!" barked the Russian. "The next step! What have I been teaching you – what is the next step?"

"We – I mean, I… You wake him up. You k-keep him awake."

"Yes. Good. And? And how do we do that?"

The tsunami hit without warning. Cold couldn't be hot and hot couldn't be cold but somehow the water was both. Someone emptied a trashcan full of it right down Callen's back. The sudden coherence threw Callen into shock. Dizziness, numbness, nausea. Freezing cold and volcano heat. Simultaneously his burns felt smoothed and also stung.

And again – unbearably – the blowtorch. Right against the stab wound below his sternum. As if they had a mind of their own, Callen's yells morphed from a sound into one word: "Sam! _SAM_! _**SAM**_!"

A fist hit him in the nose. "Shut up!" Fingers grabbed his chin. "Look at his face!" the voice called to the rest of the room. "This right here is what a broken man looks like. Examine it. Memorize it. You must be able to identify this crucial moment. This is – how you Americans say – a turning point."

Callen heard the smile in the man's silky voice. "Bring his partner here. You have been schooled in the physical tortures. The next lesson will cover the emotional."

* * *

><p>The sound of his best friend's screams was as painful to Sam's ears as a dog whistle to Monty's. "I'll do whatever you want," Sam said to God (or perhaps just to the ceiling). "I'll kiss Monty, you hear me? I'll kiss that damn dog. And I'll grow my hair out to look like Deeks'. Just let me get to him. Just let me get to G."<p>

Sam Hanna tucked his body as far back against the corner wall as he could. Knees bent, fists clenched, shoulder down, Sam took a deep breath and sprinted with all of his strength, might and soul straight at the weakest cross-section of the cell door's bars. Miraculously he didn't knock himself out. He was stunned, though, and in no condition to put up a fight when six boys in their late teens wrapped zip ties around his wrists and dragged him away. The beige paint on the hallway walls was lighter under the sunlight through high windows. Sam counted three other cells – all empty – several closets, a kitchenette, a room full of bunk beds and too many bugs to track until, finally, Sam found himself in a crowded room twice as big as Hetty's office. His training kicked in – count the enemies, count the weapons, count the exits, determine the most defendable location, identify any communication devices…

A blowtorch hovered three inches from G's left cheek and a knife three inches from his right. What Sam felt could only be described as whiplash. His emotions went from fear to anger and back again so hard and so quick that it gave him a headache. "G," he whispered, then cried out, "G!"

Callen's eyes looked… undead. He made eye contact with his partner but seemed incapable of recognizing him. Drifting, slumping, retreating into sleep – Callen passed out briefly but Russian Number One stabbed a needle into his neck, injecting him with what Agent Hanna assumed was adrenaline at the very least. The muscles in Callen's neck and jawline twitched. His eyes went from undead to scared, and Sam wasn't sure which he preferred. At least with scared eyes G knew him. "Hey, partner," Callen whispered, "I spy with my little eye something…" G stared at the knife. "…sharp."

Sam couldn't summon lighthearted banter if his wife and daughter's lives depended on it. "Oh, G…"

"It's ok, Sam. It's ok…" G coughed. Blood splattered down the front of his shirt.

A second Russian man, shorter and wider than the first, circled the room with the panache of a circus ringmaster. "This is Agent Sam Hanna," he announced. "He is a bulldog of a man. Not prone to physical torture so much as emotional. If you are going to work for us you must be able to identify the most efficient technique for each individual. Once identified you must figure out how to take advantage of it. If Agent Hanna was forced to watch Jake here suffer," said the Russian as he poked Jake in the head, "it would not be as painful as watching his partner of eight years suffer… and die."

Sam flew to his feet but six pairs of boots and fists knocked him back down. "While you're listening, hear this!" Sam shouted as his nose bled. He twisted around, trying to make eye contact with every teen in the room. "These men have promised you everything you want. Don't you think that sounds a little too good to be true?" Russian Number Two backhanded Sam across the mouth. "I know you all think you have to do what they say…" Sam spit blood onto the dirty tile floor. "But you have a choice. You outnumber your Papas here 10 to 1. Help us overpower them now – right now – and I swear you'll have the federal government's protection." Sam stared specifically at Jake. "I swear," he promised.

Everyone in the room turned into statues. Eyes flitted back and forth as they considered their options. And then – right when Jake opened his mouth to speak – a Molotov cocktail soared through a window.

* * *

><p>Back at Ops, Eric aimed his surveillance cameras at the beach house where his friends were imprisoned, and turned on the night vision. Suddenly smoke started pouring out of the windows. "Kensi! Deeks!" he shouted into his mic. "Is the LAPD breaching the house?"<p>

"Negative!" Kensi reported. "We haven't even regrouped yet to make a plan!"

"Well somebody just attacked!" Eric zoomed in on the scene. "Oh, crap. Looks like that somebody is a rival gang."

**To Be Concluded**


	5. Something Precious

**Everything That Can Go Wrong**

PenPatronus

Chapter 5 of 5

**Something Precious**

Kensi held her binoculars so close to her face that they left indents around her eyes. "Oh my god," she whispered when she saw that the beach house was on fire. "Deeks, we can't wait. We have to extract them now!"

"What about the gangs?" Deeks asked as he pocketed extra magazines.

Kensi sprinted down the street with her partner right beside her. "The LAPD can sort that out later. "We need to concentrate on getting Sam and Callen out!"

"Hope that kid's intel was right," Deeks muttered. They dodged a dozen gun-toting teenagers running down the street. Some went towards the house and some went away. Most had guns or knives and more than one had a burned arm or leg. Deeks pulled Kensi behind a parked car when shots rang out. Bodies spilled down the beach house steps. Deeks and Kensi were pinned down between fire, fist fights and shoot-outs.

* * *

><p>It was a stampede. Sam only avoided getting crushed by rolling against the wall. Boots stomped on his zip-tied hands as people tried to escape the sudden fire. "G!" Sam shouted, then coughed as he inhaled smoke. His partner was somewhere on the other side of the column of fire filling the room. He couldn't see him.<p>

"Hold still – hold still!" a voice hissed in his ear.

Sam looked up to see the kid, Jake, sawing away at the zip ties with a knife. "Thanks – a million thanks," Sam said when he was free. Jake helped him to his feet. "Now get out of here," Sam ordered. "Go find your brother."

Jake coughed against his fist and looked around with glassy eyes. "Good luck finding yours." As Sam looked around and saw little else but smoke and fire, he realized he really needed it.

G Callen came at Sam like a missile. He came out of nowhere. One moment Sam was studying the fire to find the best spot to leap through, and the next Callen slammed into his chest and knocked him aside. Sam glanced back just in time to see a piano-sized section of the ceiling above crash down right where he'd been standing. "G!" he wheezed.

Callen lay on his stomach. His blue eyes looked almost orange in the yellow firelight. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. Except for the occasional blink he was perfectly still. Sam crawled through ash to get to him. He took Callen's hand and cupped his cheek. "Well," Callen gasped, "I think that was… the last of me… I had to give…"

"No, you have a little more. Enough to get out of here," Sam said with a sob bubbling in his chest. "Get up, G." His voice cracked – then shattered. "_Get up_!"

G frowned. His eyes unfocused, then rolled back into his skull.

"_**G**_!"

* * *

><p>By the time Deeks and Kensi were able to reach the beach house without killing anyone, there was nothing left but a giant bonfire. Kensi dropped her gun in the sand and pulled at her hair. "<em>Callen<em>!" she screamed. "_Sam_!" Her vision blurred with hot tears and, blind, she groped for Deeks. He collapsed, Indian-style, beside her and she realized, in some distant subconscious, that she'd fallen to her knees. His scent surrounded her – soap and sweat and Old Spice deodorant – but it didn't block out the smell of burning wood. "We're too late," Kensi sobbed. "Oh my god, we're too late…"

Deeks was the opposite of himself – dead quiet, dead still. He just held on to Kensi for dear life – both his life and hers. Something had shifted under his feet. He pictured a pair of puzzle pieces disappearing from the mental image he had of his life. Marty Deeks was suddenly… incomplete.

The walking shadow of an uppercase letter "T" emerged from the space between the fire and the ocean. Limping, stumbling, teetering, the figure lost its balance twenty yards from the huddled agents. Sam, who carried Callen's body across his shoulders, managed to tumble into the sand without bashing G's head but couldn't do anything else to soften the fall. His own injuries finally caught up with him.

Kensi squeaked and leapt to her feet. Deeks followed, dashing after her with less grace than a drunk. Voices shouted in their earwigs. Are they ok? Is he breathing? Is he alive? Kensi yanked her earpiece out and tossed it aside. She placed that ear against Callen's white lips and held her breath until she felt his soft exhale against her skin. A hybrid of a laugh and a sob exploded from her throat. She placed chaste kisses on both of Callen's cheeks, his forehead, and his dry lips.

Deeks patted Sam's cheeks. Brown eyes blinked up at him and he mimicked Kensi's relief. "An ambulance is here, Sam," he told his teammate. "You're all right – you're ok."

"Just take care of G," Sam begged, sounding like an elderly chimneysweeper.

"He's fine – he'll be perfectly fine," Deeks assured him. As he eyed the bruises, burns and blood covering every inch of Callen's body that he could see, Deeks hoped he wasn't lying.

* * *

><p>Callen didn't expect to wake up. Death was already looking over his shoulder even before he summoned the last strength he had to shove Sam out from under a chunk of burning ceiling. He always knew he would die like that – in fire, on fire, or under fire… The best he could ever hope for was a meaningful death and, if he was lucky, to see a face he loved before he passed. Saving Sam's life was his last act and Sam's face was the last thing he saw. Finally life gave him what he wanted.<p>

G didn't open his eyes at first. He used his other four senses to figure out what was going on, so he wasn't surprised when he saw Sam Hanna sitting at his bedside with his face against the bed sheet and two fingers on the pulse in Callen's wrist. One corner of Callen's lips curled into a fond smile. He slid his hand into Sam's and squeezed. "I spy with my little eye something… precious," he whispered.

Sam had endured a lot of false alarms in the past 48 hours, so he didn't get his hopes up when he heard G's voice. He did peek, though. He did see that Callen's eyes were open and alive. But it could be a drug-induced hallucination, he thought, until Callen's fingers hugged his. "Oh my god," Sam gasped, and then it was a whole minute before was able to say anything else as his throat worked and his chin wobbled. "Oh my god, G, it's so good to see you."

Callen didn't bother trying to contain the tear that slid down his cheek. "You, too."

Sam wiped his own wet cheeks. "I don't know what to say. I feel like I gotta say something, you know, big."

"You could say what your guess is."

"Honestly, G, you almost died and you still want to play I Spy? _What's wrong with you_?"

Callen chuckled, then winced when that rattled his cracked ribs. "I said that I spied something shiny, round, smooth, sharp, and precious. I'll give you a hint: I was describing the same thing each time."

"What?" Sam looked down at the hospital scrubs he wore and the bandages on his arms. "Ok… was it something I was wearing? Has to be something on me – I'm the common denominator here."

Callen blinked slowly. "I spy something stupid," he mocked, "and stubborn and hard and… bald!"

Sam's eyes widened. "My head?" he asked, running his palms across his scalp. "_My head_?"

"Obviously, Mr. Hanna," said a voice from the hospital room door. The two men looked up to see Hetty leaning casually against the doorframe. "I suspect that you were perspiring in that cell, which made your skin shiny. Your head is round, obviously; shaved smooth, obviously; and I agree with Mr. Callen that you can be hard-headed at times."

"I wasn't all insults," Callen pointed out. "His head is sharp. I mean, his mind is. Not like yours or mine of course, Hetty."

"And he's _precious_. How sweet. A bit chick flick for me but to each their own."

Sam chuckled. "When you're feeling better I'm going to punch you for that."

"Bring it on," G taunted. He tried and failed to make a fist. "Bring it on in a few… weeks."

"If you would return to your own hospital bed, Mr. Hanna," said Hetty, "I would like a word in private with Mr. Callen."

"Sure." Sam stood but kept his hands on the back of the chair so that he could scoot it in for Hetty. "I'll visit tomorrow morning, ok?" he said to G. "Do you want to play Connect 4 or Scrabble?"

"Candyland." G smiled. "Clue if we can find a third."

"I'm sure Deeks and Kensi will come to steal your Jell-O. Goodnight, G." Sam took Callen's hand again, squeezed it gently and then held it for a long moment. The two men nodded at each other – communicating in one look everything that needed to be said, but not necessarily out loud – or at least not out loud in front of company.

When Sam left, Hetty got back up and closed the door. She locked it and then stood frozen, staring at her hand on the doorknob as it trembled. "You had me worried sick, Mr. Callen."

"What's the final tally?" Callen asked. He yawned and pulled the blankets up to his chin.

"Three cracked ribs and one broken," said Hetty. She sat back down and crossed her legs. "Punctured lung, concussion; first, second and third degree burns, contusions, lacerations, broken nose, internal bleeding… Shall I continue?"

"Tell me the other half of the list tomorrow."

Hetty took a deep breath. "If there was such thing as a fourth degree burn I'm sure you'd have that, too." She took off her glasses and started to clean them with a cloth she pulled from her pocket. Callen watched her work. The combination of precision and gentleness with which she cleaned was somehow hypnotizing. When she finished, Hetty replaced the frames on her nose and looked at Callen with glassy eyes. "We didn't catch them. Didn't even get a clear picture."

"The masterminds were two Russians," said G.

"Can you describe them?" When Callen didn't answer, Hetty cleared her throat. "We don't have to have this discussion now. It's been two days. Undoubtedly, they're long gone. And you need to get more sleep."

Callen suddenly reached out and took Hetty's small, pale hand in his large, callused palm. "Their names are…" G took an unsteady breath. "Nazarov. Artur Nazarov and Rodion Portnov."

"You know them? Mr. Hanna didn't think you did!" Hetty frowned and leaned forward. "Mr. Callen, when I look up those names, what will I find?"

Callen's face reddened and tears reappeared in his eyes. He tugged the back of Hetty's hand to his lips and kissed it. "I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me, Hetty…" Callen winced. He settled deeper into his bed and grimaced when his elbow grazed a rib.

Hetty mentally swatted a million questions away like flies. She got to her feet and adjusted Callen's pillows and blankets, then turned off the overhead lights. She stayed with Callen until his breaths evened out in sleep. Before Hetty left she brushed her thumb across his chin, ghosted his cheek with the back of her hand, whispered "Goodnight, Mr. Callen" a pressed a mother's kiss to his forehead.

**The End**


	6. POLL ANNOUNCEMENT

_**If you liked this story enough to want a sequel, head to my profile and answer the poll question at the top of the page.**_

_**If there's enough interest I'll write it!**_

_**-PenPatronus-**_


	7. SEQUEL

Ask and you shall receive:

The first chapter of the sequel to this story has been posted -

**It's called "Dark Corners"**

Enjoy! (Review!)

PenPatronus


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